


Praeternatural

by Lucidsilver



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Allspeak, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Archangels, Dark Loki, Enochian, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jötunn Loki, Loki Does What He Wants, My First Fanfic, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pagan Gods, Shapeshifter Loki, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trickster Gabriel, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucidsilver/pseuds/Lucidsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavri'el knew it was a matter of time before ni would be forced to choose between nir siblings. Dark visions of the future were enough to convince ni to leave, but a vessel was needed to stay off Heaven's radar. Difficult since all the blood lines capable of hosting an archangel were being watched, and the only other candidate as nir vessel was entity of questionable moral and origin bound and confined in a void of shadows were even archangels feared to tread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> |Enochian|  
> [AllSpeak]

 

Glowing pinpricks of amber stared from abyssal black eyes set in a pale sharp face. Raising a long fingered hand tipped with crimson nails bright dancing flames lit up the empty cold hearth that the being wrapped in white furs sat crossed legged on a similar fur rug in-front of. Bright flames cast sinister shadows across the inhuman creature’s visage. Bright orange hair with streaks of gold seemed to glow with the light of the flames.

[I wilt admit, to my curiosity as to wherefore one of your kind would come to me, an archangel no less.] Despite the closed off expression, the being's tone was warm and pleasant though with a soft rustling pitch, eyes still fixed upon the fire.

There was nothing said for several long moments. The being received no response and continued to gaze into the flickering dancing fire, slender fingers through it, showing no signs of distress even when his whole hand seemed to have been pulled in by a tendril of orange blue fire, accompanied by whispering laughter.

“...Well can't say I was expecting to visit you either, Tricker of gods.” A shadow in the corner of the room shifted.

Amber pinpricks flickering with their own fire burned with amusement despite the cold stony expression on the god's face. [You may know me as Tsalmaveth angel, come sit with me]

“Only if you call me Gavri'el.” Was the flippant response, even as a thin frail looking young girl dressed in a bright golden dress detached from the shadows and sat cautiously next to the god that stared unashamedly at the archangel.

Gavri'e's vessel was a tiered looking girl with thin dark brown hair, hollow cheeks and a small nose dotted with freckles. Amber eyes lingered on the faint rashes visible on the archangel's vessel, marring her face and thin bare forearms. Thin lips turned downwards at the corners, the god turned to the fire once more. His expression blank but eyes dark.

“You know why I have come.” A slow nod was the archangel's response. “I wouldn't have come unless I had no other choice, everyone is always fighting, there is never a moment of peace between Mikha'el and Hêlêl, Rafa'el is withdrawn and somber, and Father-”

Giving the archangel a side eyed glance, the god waited motionlessly. Gavri'el continued. Honesty given through then need to speak and be listened to. “I could not stand it any longer, they keep fighting, always at the throat of the other. I didn't know what to do, I have no message to pass on, so I wasn't needed, but to remain on Earth-”

Arching a single brow Tsalmaveth turned his head fully to stare at the archangel in the visibly steaming vessel beside him. Said archangel was a shimmering force writhing beneath translucent skin.

In the silence that followed the only sound was the cracking of burning wood and soft whispering laughter from the dancing flames that Tsalmaveth returned his gaze to as the danger of the archangel's vessel spontaneous combustion passed.

[...You do realize little angel, that for what I think you are implying I couldst easily kindle you to ashes.] It was a rather softly spoken statement, equal parts warning and curious, with a sibilant consonant. [Your brethren would be unable to find you, cloaked as you and this place are from prying gazes. None are aware that you are here.]

The youngest archangel stilled completely, retreating deeper into herself when crimson tipped claws pressed with deceptive gentleness on either side of her vessel's face. The pinpricks of amber were blown wide, the black only a faint darkening at the edge of the god's dispassionate eyes that penetrated dull bronze, to look into Gavri'el's multiple fear filled eyes. The archangel hadn’t seen him move.

It was too little too late as Gavri'el questioned her decision to visit this god of all creatures with such a request in mind, she hadn't even voiced it, but it didn't matter, it was obvious what she was going to ask. There were other candidates that she could choose. Some easier than others to convince or even willing.

Others would attack before speaking, or they would be like the Bound One, half mad and starving as he was, Tsalmaveth was at the bottom of the candidates Gavri'el had thought of. Despite that he was also the best fit out of all of them as the archangel's vessel and could as easily contain her.

After the brief glimpse if the god's true form the archangel had before reveling herself, she had no trouble believing Tsalmaveth would not succumb to her grace. If he could be convinced to say yes, and not devour her the moment she tried to subdue his chaotic essence, he would be the perfect vessel that was not Gavri’el’s true vessel.

Tsalmaveth considered the archangel for several long moments, grip slowly tightening before he drew back in a slow controlled manner claws returning to nails. An impassive look on his face.

Hands once again passing into the fire that had taken the form of a winding serpent, a gamboling colt, and a clumsy looking hound playing with a small humanoid looking child.

So that was the source of the laughter, Gavri'el hadn't noticed with the sheer presence that Tsalmaveth gave off.

[I have children angel. In every iteration, the one thing that never changes is mine failing of them, loyal to Odin as I a-was. As I was.]

A soft huff at the near slip that Gavri'el didn't dare point out. Eyes darkened, amber once again pinpricks vanished, hidden by the darkness in the god's eyes, a bitter smile touching the being's face as the shades within the fire laughed and danced, carefree and joyous.

[I always failed them. Even now. What is worse, their fates woven by the Norns? Or reducing them to this?]

Gavri'el said nothing, half wondering if the god even remembered that she was there and immediately discarding the thought. No matter the state of his mind, Tsalmaveth was fickle and not to be underestimated.

Eyes flickering to the dancing shades in the flames to the glazed over dark eyes of her companion Gavri'el was unsure what to do, that would hopefully not end with her death. The archangel shifted her wings nervously when the god visibly began to breathe, clawed hands clenching.

[I hated this]

A jerky gesture towards himself, the circular patch of white fur rug, the small hearth with the playing shades, and the thick palpable darkness surrounding them.

[At first, but 'twas the best I could do, can do, a puppet cut from strings it relied on to heavily, just because it saw enough of the script to want to escape the plot, and for all the so called freedom it gained, still lost, still trapped]

Father. She felt an overwhelming amount of empathy for the suddenly vulnerable looking god. It was the only reason she did something that she knew Mikha'el would have spent the next millennia screeching at her about had he been there.

If the eldest archangel had been there, blood shed would have occurred so maybe she wouldn't have been able to extend her grace out to the god, and wrap her arms around his middle in a physical and metaphysical hug.

The dark bitter sensation that came with touching her grace to the god made her shiver was almost enough for Gavri'el to fly away with her tails between her legs. Never look back at the dark pocket of nothingness were Tsalmaveth and his brood remained cut off from all of time and creation.

Until the lost and vulnerable image of the god clutching his furs to himself flashed in her mind. Absently the archangel noted the furs were very nice under her vessel's fingers, smooth and soft. It still amazed her how things felt when connected to a vessel.

“My sympathies for the situation you are in.” After a moment Tsalmaveth seeming to wilt slightly, the dark essence just underneath his avatar seeming to lose some of its bitter edge and skirt outwards to brush against her grace. Gavri'el shuddered but did not withdraw.

[Oh?] it was a soft sigh, seemingly resigned and undeniably exhausted. Gavri'el wondered at Tsalmaveth's expression, but she wasn't dead yet, so the god wasn't too upset. Probably. [Of course you can assist me, at a price that once paid, left a useless shade of what I once was, and my children...]

Within her vessel Gavri'el's grace roiled angrily as she arched her wings at the thought of reducing the god to such a state.

While obviously broken, from what she had seen, there was still a burning will to carry on within Tsalmaveth, not quite pride or honor, but that desperate primal will to live for another. To prove them wrong, that yes you could protect them.

It disturbed the archangel more that she wanted to admit that there was no will to live for himself, as if it had been simply removed. It shouldn't be possible.

“I refuse to allow that.” It was just that simple.

There was no way that she would allow the god to sit forgotten slowly wasting away to protect his children from the fate that awaited them because of prejudice of others, and the machinations of higher powers. Even if it might result in her death. Were the sudden determination came from Gavri'el had no idea.

The god seemed to slowly loose the coiled tightness that had been ever present since the beginning of their conversation. The oppressive weight that had been pressing upon her from the beginning evaporated, taking the strain she hadn't noticed go with it.

[In truth?]

“I wouldn't lie to you.”

[The Father of Lies has been gifted his fair share of them.]

“No, well that too. You deserve some honesty without any deception.”

[...Angels are all about justice and blunt honesty then?] The dark cool essence of the god mellowed out, reminding Gavri'el of stale mead instead of bitter charred wood and vinegar. The angel found the rotted fruit like tang more tolerable.

Not that there was much she could have done with the dark tendrils of the Bound One's essence coiling loosely through her grace. The archangel strangely enough felt for the most part the extreme invasion was nonthreatening, her grace was doing the same to her current vessel's soul.

As if aware of the thought, the dark tendrils lingered near the brightly glittering soul that was oblivious to the intense scrutiny it was under.

Before Gavri'el rising worry forced her to act, the darkness receded back into the god's motionless avatar. Tsalmaveth didn't continue the probably semiconscious act of breathing after a loud exhale, both being knowing it was pointless and unnecessary.

[All iterations are similar yet different, all leading to the same place despite how far each of us stray from the paths already set down by those who had gone before. Blind despite seeing it so many times, insane after so many pointless attempts to change what cannot be changed.]

He was frowning from the dark raspy tone he had taken.

[They still follow him, the Terrible One, each and every single time, even when he makes the same mistakes. It never ceases to amaze me how they all continue to blindly follow the Strings despite how it always brings them to their Doom.]

Gavri'el disliked philosophical talks like this. Fate the future, what could be or could have been. The irony was not lost on her.

[How long it took The Sly One to realize how pointless everything was I am unsure, I see now though. The place for one such as I is not as open.] 

Then there was a surge of primal fear through the archangel's grace as all light vanished. The avatar of the bound god was almost burning despite the cool clamminess of its skin, a contradiction that caused her grace to roil in unease, the obvious supernatural nature of it.

Almost without realizing it, she slowly opened her eyes, staring at Tsalmaveth with her true sight instead of her vessel. Gavri'el shuddered feeling small under the thousands of amber pinpricks, each with the diameter of her wingspan or greater. Narrowed.

She could barely make out the massive form that was covered by in comparison small orange red dots. A single large eye with concentric ripple like patterns gleamed almost as bright as the silver fanged nightmare of grin, a ghastly horizontal slash across a cruel face. Then the Originator of Deceit spoke.

[Let us form a...Mutually beneficial deal.]


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavri'el extends the olive branch. Tsal is confused but accepts it. Gavri'el prays that it wasn't all a mistake. Tsal is rather pleased with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AllSpeak]  
> |Enochian|  
> "English"

Tsalmaveth before he became so, was accused of trusting too much by a fellow. Trust, traustr, the firm belief in the reality, the truth or strength of something or someone, to the point that you would allow it to have control over you, hold your confidence.

The Tricker used to trust a lot of things, and what remained of him still did. He trusted Bolverk many iterations ago, and several since to betray him. He trusted the Æsir to turn on him and his family. It happened once, it happened twice, and would keep happening no matter what he did to try and change things.

He could only slow them down to the point it would take more time than they had to bring events to a close, even if it was another change at choice from the cycle. It was a false hope really, so he ignored it, and continued to ignore it. Gavri’el was different though, a break in the pattern.

Everything was progressing as usual, Tsalmaveth prepared to spend another iteration burning himself out to shield his own from the horrors that they would have faced. Gavri’el changed things however with its mere presence. 

Choice was not a fleeting thing that flitted teasingly in the wind, a wavering mirage that would dissipate like smoke and burn his seeking hands. With the archangel’s assistance, it was a tangible thing, solid, firm, and the distance not so great or impossible to transverse. He could grasp it if he was so inclined.

For all his power limited as it was in his current state, but still great, Tsalmaveth had no choice. He was limited to the script he had been given, the little amount of room he had for change utilized in full, and then some. The script had been growing progressively harder to burn though.

There were some occasions he came close to choice, but never this close, how long it had been since he had it, even if only an illusion, Tsalmaveth couldn’t for the life of him remember. The times from before, obscure memories clouded by pain, darkness and eyes. That cruel azure gaze never lost their clarity.

Gavri’el was a risk, what it could provide was something that Tsalmaveth would do almost anything for. Yet there was no gurantee that the archangel would stay to their word.  
If asked, he would drag the heavens from their cradle in the sky. If asked, the dark being would without hesitation or care for the billions of little lives raise hell upon the earth, and personally lead the armies of hell. If asked, he would bring back the dark ages, or an eternal golden age.

All that and more he would have done without any hesitation or mercy at the simple chance. Any compassion and empathy he once had mostly nonexistent, the little he had focused on his brood. 

If Gavri’el came through, if the archangel actually accomplished what it promised-

He hummed, a low rumbling sound, eyes fixated on the small celestial entity. Said entity squirmed minutely under his scrutiny. Tsalmaveth knew that he could trust the angel, but what exactly he could trust it to do, the dark being was unsure.

The seemingly sincere words that flowed from the archangel's mouth were too good to be true. The title of the Messenger was well gifted.

How long had he waited for a way out, a chance to finally cut his ties and break away from the cycle he had been a part of longer than he could recall?  
Too long.

At first the Trickster played along, participating with the rest of them right in the thick of things, until vague impressions turned to nagging feelings and half-forgotten memories. Distant dreams, then nightmares.

At some point, he remembered, not everything, as it would be impossible to retain even some semblance of sanity that he pretended to have, but enough for him to want no part in their sick and twisted games. 

It was never about what he had wanted though, not then. The best he could do was condemn himself and his children to a half-life, trapped in distortions of time were they couldn’t reach, and contented themselves with the empty mannequins Tsalmaveth’s actions had left them with. 

Tsalmaveth expected to spend eternity staring at the hearth, lifeless save for the playful spirits of his children, their shades given the life and vitality they lost, at the sacrifice of the Hearth spirit’s fire. They didn’t know the full extent of what he sacrificed for them. If he had his way they never would.

Surprises were never good in Tsalmaveth’s experiences, and as a rule, the being didn’t like them. Gavri’el, was a surprise. A different sort that he was unused to, but still the archangel was a surprise, and he did not like them. Yet, he desired what Gavri’el’s appearance represented. Change. Freedom. Revenge.

So again, Tsalmaveth knew that he trusted the archangel, but now he had to ask himself, not for his own sake, but the sake of Sleipnir, Hela, Jormungandr, and Fenris, the sons and daughter of Loki the Trickster. 

[The promises that you speak of. Oh the things you say archangel.] He was only half focused on the small bundle of light, its arching wings folded tightly to its flanks, necks craning in an attempt to keep the large dark being in sight. [Such dangerous queer humor you inspire. Fickle and ever fleeting trust is. Tell me, exactly how should I trust you?]

Large bright eyes warily assessed the dark being, but the archangel did not show any signs of fleeing, talon tipped feet firmly set on the nothingness they stood on, shoulders lowered and tail loosely curled against its side. 

Once again he found himself admiring the elegantly constructed creature and wondering not for the first time, why the creator of such a race would seemingly abandon them if all other angels were as pleasing as the Gavri’el was to the eye. Heads lowered, the archangel said nothing for several moments.

|…I cannot answer that.|

It was a very close thing, but he managed to restrain the wayward limb that lurched forward to dismember the celestial entity. It was an accomplishment really, the archangels lucky he had burned himself out over the eons.

|Should you trust another? I do not presume to know what you have experienced, and I cannot comprehend the thought process of a being of your position, however I can assure you I gain nothing by lying, your ability to believe in my honesty is paramount to my goals.|

An ember eyes squinted, pinpricks rapidly winking as the darkness roiled around him. He still sensed no lies, it was strange, and he had associated lies with all that he did not count as his own. His curiosity was a tiny flicker in his cold mind, a startling change to his apathetic cynicism. 

[You must have heard things about me, yet you released my brood. I am a being cloaked in darkness, why do you wish to go out of your way to assist me when your side of the bargain is already fulfilled?] Tsalmaveth continued without waiting for a response, the question only half directed at the archangel. He didn’t expect an answer. [Am I right in my thinking that, you are sound of mind and spirit? If so, what compels you to further consort with beings of chaos?]

|Free will is an attribute that Father gifted to humans, his greatest creation, it is not something that angels possess. If He did not approve of my actions of freeing your spawn, or my current actions regarding your imprisonment, and the resulting actions you would perform once free, I would know.|

He frowned, eyes roving as he stared intently into the yawning darkness. There was no difference, not that he expected to sense anything. Tsalmaveth was a damaged shattered being. He knew and accepted that, it was not that much of a stretch that the Creator of the universe would keep an eyes on him, or warn his creations of him.

|While you may be a dark being that is noteworthy enough for Father to caution us of confronting, even if you are imprisoned here, you are the only alternative I have in successfully avoiding the pointless bloodshed that will result from my brethren.|

The archangel wavered for a moment, form blurring into waves before reforming once again, more solid and sure than before. Those eyes seemed to almost see through him, to the shattered thing he was.

|The realm Yggdrasil is not one of my Fathers creations, the humans, giants, and gods there are not of my father. The realm is not a part of my father’s plan.|

His essence churned uncomfortably.

|…You are not an evil being-|

He could hear what the angel was saying but the words.

|…You were hurt and angry-|

He did not understand, the intentions were clearer than before, the honesty was painfully clear.

|…This is not just about our deal.|

Why did someone care now?

|There was a measure injustice done to you. It should have been corrected long afore.|

Compared another angel, Gavri’el was a rather large and powerful entity, small only in the presence of nir eldest siblings and Father, whose presence dwarfed everything. Tsalmaveth constantly shrouded in darkness was notably larger than even Mikha’el though, by several times at least. The Dark One made the youngest archangel feel small in a way only nir Father ever had.

It was no wonder that they were cautioned away from the rippling shadows halfway between the light and dark in the early beginnings of creation. Even trapped and sapped of strength the dark being had a presence about him that made the messenger feel like ni was being watched by one of the Old Ones.

Still, ni knew that despite Tsalmaveth as he wished to be called not being one of nir Father’s creations, the dark being was not an abomination, as much as his grace wanted to be far away from the being, something in it was drawn to the Bound One. 

Cracks stretched across the dark cage that hugged the being’s form like an exoskeleton, disintegrating were the grace of an archangel seeped through, stoking the dull amber spark within. With an explosion of light that revealing sinister dark chains that scattered like ash in the wind, all traces of the darkness vanished. 

A towering slender figure with a sharp featured humanlike face, elongated ears, and pointed chin. Slanted to large amber eyes slightly unfocused gazing vaguely into the bright expanse that was once darkness. Shimmering strands of scarlet adorned the being’s head in a spiky mane of hair, inlayed with polished shards of bones, smoothed stones and wooded beads. 

Pale long fingered hands hesitantly, patting the pale orange tunic, lingering on the thick light blue feathered cloak draped over his shoulders. No Gavri’el realized wings. He stared at the massive white blue hawk like bird with green flecked red eyes crying out for blood, wings that easily dwarfed nir own by a hundred times.

It had to be Father’s will that ni freed the Shattered One, otherwise, Gavri’el had single handedly condemned an entire universe’s destruction with nir hand in rejuvenating Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an an AU, so most characters are going to be ooc. Loki will be kinda off, at first. Being stuck in a time loop for so long will do that to a person.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two friends become brothers.  
> A 'slightly' unhinged Loki goes about Ragnarok a little bit differently.  
> Gavriel is disturbed, and Odin isn't having a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AllSpeak]  
> |Enochian|  
> "English"

There was just something about seiðr that had fascinated Loptr as a young child. Many of his fellow jötnar only had an interest based on necessity, nothing more. It disappointed him when he learned all he could, there was so little that they could teach him. Oðinn however was different. 

The halfblooded giant sought out to learn more with a fervor equal if not more intense than his own. He fascinated Loptr, and in turn, Oðinn seemed curious if somewhat guarded about him. It was only to be expected he though, he had been raised by Æsir unfortunately.

They became friends, Loptr making sure to properly educate Oðinn in the ways of the jötnar. It was not all violence and deception like the Æsir made it out to be. In turn, his friend told him of the halls of Asgard and the ways of the Æsir. 

Sometimes a strange look would come into his friend’s eyes and he would stare at Loptr when he thought the jötun wasn’t looking. He always was though, never let it be said that growing up in the harsh forests of Jotunheimr made Loptr a dull child. Eventually while resting after several bouts in what became their clearing, Oðinn asked if Loptr was willing to come with him to Asgard, and become his brother. His answer was yes without any hesitation. 

Both cut their hands, crimson weeping from the incisions on their palms. Loptr tightly clasped hands with Oðinn their blood mixing and bonding them together. As brothers. Oðinn returned to Asgard from Jotunheimr with his blood brother Loki the dawn of the next day.

X

The crown of ice was a comforting weight, a diadem of glinting crystal antlers that melded seamlessly to his brow. Sharp freezing cool to the touch, many a number had died an agonizing death speared upon them, their life blood coloring the clear ice red. Pale blue feathers lightened to straw yellow at the ends, and his tail was a fan of red amber feathers, the tips burning with golden flames.

From where he hung above the sky, the dying sun casting a glow upon him, Loki peered down at the land below him. Midgard. Fond memories of traveling the land of men with his once brother and nephew came to mind, better times in some ways, and worse in others. With a small contemplative noise the falcon swished its tail, lazily wheeling circles in the sky, relishing the burn in his long silent spirit. 

He had almost forgotten what it was like to feel Kári’s fingers deftly running through his feathers in a comforting caress, helping lift him into the sky. It wasn’t necessary and he wasn’t quite sure if they were still siblings, but all the same whenever he flew she sprung to assist him whenever she could. It was so easy to forget the little things that he had once enjoyed, never realizing how much he missed them until they were gone. 

Gazing through half lidded eyes, the jötnar lazily beat his wings, a vindictive glint in his eyes as he watched the previously calm white clouds darken to grey. He could imagine the pitiful mortals running in terror as the grey clouds from above brought darkness to their simple little world.

[Ah Oðinn you who were once my brother, fret and worry, dwell in your home and seek warmth and comfort from your cold empty hearth yet receive none.]  
Distantly as the rapidly descending sun was blotted out by clouds, a scream of fright could be heard. It was quickly silenced and replaced by a howl.

[Find no joy or merriment, watch as your precious mortals forsake their gods and bring about havoc and strife to their fellows. Despair as the evil that sleeps in the land you created from the flesh and blood of the primordial giant and infects the precious tree from which all come forth and return. Stand helpless and do nothing as evils delight in the growing wickedness in every heart and all you know is cast into darkness.]

Snow dropped from heavy black clouds, carried off by the eager wind to blanket the land of mortal men with snow, and ice that leeched away all warmth. 

[The combed fowl’s croon will herald the doom of the power and helplessly you will watch as your worst fears play before you one last time.]

The sky bled mesmerizing shades of red, carmine and scarlet streaking across what was left of the sky as the life blood of the brúðr dripped from Hróðvitnir’s son snapping jaws. He who at last seized the bright bride of the sky in his jaws.

[As you lay dying beneath the fangs of Fenrir, in the midst of carnage twilight, watch the sons of Muspell come, guided by fire as they tear all asunder. Watch and know that you bound by the three sisters are helpless as I burn everything held dear to your heart to ashes. Go into battle knowing that I will have you on your knees strung in the entrails of your precious sons beaten, AS YOU ONCE HAD ME!]

X

All around him corpses of giants and gods alike burned. Fire demons ravaged the corpses alongside a massive crimson drake seemingly not minding what the source the flesh between their jaws came from, at ease in the fiery desolate land that was once bountiful. 

Standing so tall his head up against the clouds, hair brushing against the roof of the sky stood Loki, absently petting Fenrir’s massive head and stroking Jormungandr’s jaw, paying no mind to the puffs of deadly poison that came with the serpent’s every breath.

Gavri’el wasn’t sure how to feel about the carnage and destruction that had and still was taking place. The archangel had no right to denounce the Dark One’s actions, after all ni had a role in the carnage as well. If the dark being desired to pry open the rib cage of his tormentor and hand their lungs over their shoulders, it was his own business.  
If his first son who was with deliberate slowness stomping on the tips of the All-Father’s toes it was also his own business, after all this world was not one of Father’s. The former king did not cry out despite the pain he surely must be feeling. 

Gavri’el was not made to be a warrior like Mikha’el or Hêlêl. Even Rafa’el was more suited to battle than nim. Gavri’el was a warrior just like the rest of the host, but his primary purpose was to be a messenger, not a fighter. A shiver went through the archangel’s grace, nir gaze fixed upon the sight of de-winged valkyrja being carried away by the jötnar walking along a bridge made from the Serpents seemingly endless coils. 

The glint in the giant’s eyes left no doubt as to what fate awaited the unfortunate maidens. If not for the emptiness in their eyes, Gavri’el would have struggled with the urge to interfere.

As if sensing the archangel’s minute unease Loki exchanged a look with the massive eight legged stallion, posture at ease despite the flames clad demons bringing down the few remaining standing Æsir and the jeering jötnar carrying away the bound prisoners. The eldest of Loki’s children snorted, eyes rolling in their sockets. Giving one last kick to the fallen king, the horse stepped aside.

A vague sort of smile on his face, Loki elegantly stepped away from his children, gliding on light feet. Flames leaping higher as he passed, the Deceiver stood above the All-Father, amber green eyes half lidded. 

The jötun with deceptive gentleness bend slightly at the waist, pale slender fingered hands assisting the ás to his knees, hoisting him upright by thickly wound cords that shone gold were blood hadn’t stained it red.  
[Better is it not?] The god did not answer, mouth pinched and white. 

The monstrous wolf growled, a guttural deep sound that shook the ground. Gavri’el withdrew a little relived ni was not restricted by a vessel in case ni needed to flee. Loki hushed the wolf, a serene expression on his sharply features. The remaining beast’s demons and giants gathered in a loose circle to watch silently, the only sound the crackling fames eagerly consuming kindling in the form of corpses.

[Come come Oðinn, better to kneel than wallow in the filth, don’t you agree?] When the ás did not answer, Loki’s calm expression twisted into an ugly snarl.  
Scaled clawed feet lashed out, kicking the god viciously in the chest. Coughing and spitting up ichor, Oðinn remained, upright, for the most part.  
[Freyja was an interesting, for an ásynja. certainty the silkiness of the skækja hair was no boast.] The lone blue in in a blood encrusted face was positively blank. [No, you certainty didn’t appreciate her… Activities being pointed out to you Oðinn.]

Frowning, arching brows pinched and eyes dark with something the archangel failed to identify Loki peered into the god’s eyes searching for something. The speed in which the jötun’s mood change was impossible for Gavri’el to keep track of. Scowling harshly, Loki shook his head, hair clinking like glass as he turned his back on the silent ás calmly surveying the watching monstrous beasts.

[All of you knew this day would come. For some it was simply a feeling, a rather mild inclination to gather at this place. For others, it was a call impossible to ignore. Regardless, you came, and lo, what we have accomplished, together.]  
A massacre.

[Chaos at its best, the proud noble Æsir are no more, the Ásynjur have been seized, all the realms that stand against us have been plundered and pillaged.] His countenance distinctively avian and sharp, a clawed finger gestured down at the bloody and bound fallen king. [Standing here in Vígríðr all that is left, Gestumblindi!]  
There was much laughter, sinister dark twisted laughter.

[Unfortunately he seems to find no delight in my company, for shame, I used to be very talented in keeping company, alas what a terrible host I have been! To deprive the guest of honor the right to mingle, for shame.]

Fire demons and jötnar alike cried out, mock booing and baying eagerly, barely restrained by Loki’s commanding aura, despite the jötun’s impressive presence and size.  
[As much as I would love to keep company with our…Guest, I have prior arrangements.] 

Smiling widely but eyes flat, the jötun gazed directly at Gavri’el despite the archangel cloaking nirself from perception. For a moment, he seemed torn, gaze wandering back to the ás kneeling on the ground. Those cold amber eyes burned with a dark fury, barely controlled when they settled on the three beast like jötnar.

Grinning crookedly he stepped away from the ás, a glazed blue orb gingerly held between two fingers. The sea of monsters parting to make way for the Father of Lies and his offspring, moving as one they eagerly fell upon the ás, bound in entrails and bloody golden threads and blinded.

[Farewell, brother.] It was a mere whisper. Louder to be heard over the subsiding but still fierce roar of fire and the baying demons and all other manor of beasts Loki spoke. 

[Henceforth let it be known I Loptr, formerly known as Loki of Asgard sound of mind and spirit freely give control over mine vessel to one Gavri’el, archangel of the entity known as... יהוה and is His Messenger for the release of me and mine from the cycle crafted by the nornir, their subsequent demise and destruction, the burning of Yggdrasil, and the revitalizing a fallen body. As I deem so mote it be.] 

|…So mote it be...|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vígríðr- where gods gather to battle at the onset of Ragnarok  
> skækja- tart, prostitute  
> Gestumblindi- Blind guest  
> Kári-personification of the wind, Fornjót's daughter and sister of Ægir and Logi

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a one-shot about Gabriel finding his vessel and trying to convince them to say Yes. Then it just kept going from there.


End file.
